


Bad Habit

by pastomatoes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, PWP, actually just losing games, dominant Matthew strikes again, gilbert thinks he's slick, hint: he ain't, hockey brings out the worst in matthew, honestly no clue what I'm doing, particularly with these two lil shits, smut seems to be all I'm capable of writing, someone save me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastomatoes/pseuds/pastomatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert knows how to get Matthew to puck- er, sorry- <em>fuck</em> him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habit

It's no easy feat, though Gilbert very rarely ever gets praised for this particular talent. In fact, it's more of a bad habit than a talent. He has a gift for bringing out the worst in people... 

This would include the shy little Canadian he's had his eye on since he first skated onto the rink. Gilbert could immediately tell that the blond, with the exception of when he was playing hockey, was incredibly passive. There was no denying the subtle red tinge that seized his cheeks whenever someone's eyes met his directly, or the quiet trembling of his voice when he was addressed. It's endearing as hell, especially considering that he transforms into a goddamn savage animal the moment his skates hit the ice.

Gilbert smirks to himself, wondering where else his teammate lets the anger that he cast away to burn in the pit of his stomach go. Surely he needs more than one outlet for tension; he must have other ways to relieve himself of the burden. (And shit, there must be so much rage, too, because Gilbert's seen the blond's twin brother, _heard_ him... How the hell does someone live with a person that bashes hockey in favor of American football?)

American football... That's a rant Gilbert will save for later.

"Beilschmidt!" another player calls, and Gilbert snaps back to the moment. He lifts his gaze, snow white hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he plows forward relentlessly, not bothering to see who he's checking until...

Blond hair and signature violet eyes are in Gilbert's vision, and the albino smirks. He doesn't stop, doesn't skid to a halt to cut across the ice and send a flurry of white into the air. He keeps rushing, and then that broad chest is in front of him and he shoves Matthew against the wall with staggering force.

There's nothing, no reaction besides a sharp inhale of air, because Matthew's been knocked breathless by the sudden impact of his teammate. He's sandwiched between Gilbert and the stiff, unforgiving wall for a second- No, _two seconds_ , two seconds too long... Is Gilbert lingering?

Matthew huffs, not meeting Gilbert's half-lidded eyes; he's too engulfed in the game, like usual. That wasn't the reaction Gilbert was looking for (hell, he got more words out of the audience, barking at him for hindering his own team), but he's content to try again. _Persistence is key when you wanna get fucked by a Canadian hockey player,_ Gilbert reminds himself carefully. _Persistence is key._

Two goals later, two goals on his own team; they're losing, now... Two goals later and Gilbert does it again, thrusts Matthew into the wall face first. The Canadian is quick to snap around this time, face flushed, lips parted as he struggles for air, his blond curls wild beneath that stifling helmet, and _wow_ , Gilbert's huge-ass uniform is too fucking tight all of a sudden...

"The hell's wrong, eh?" Matthew demands, raising his hands slightly as if to dismiss Gilbert. Gilbert pouts his bottom lip, raises his brows as he skates beside Matthew. He hitches his shoulders in a coy shrug. "Nothin'," he replies innocently. Matthew stares at him suspiciously from the corners of his eyes.

"How 'bout you do that to the guys with the _different colored jerseys_ , you useless shit! We're already three down, and that's the fourth time you've checked me today. So watch where the fuck you're going, yeah?" Matthew suggests, voice taut, and Gilbert is quick to nod agreement...

But of course that just means he's calculating the next time he's going to do it again.

They lose. _Of course they lose_ , despite the opposing team being, quite frankly, unbelievably shitty. Matthew starts trailing behind a line of his grumbling teammates, but then it happens again: His back hits the wall. The Canadian nearly snaps the Prussian's spine, moving quickly to wrench out and reverse their positions. His gloved hands dig into Gilbert's shoulders, even through the thick padding, and Gilbert, the little bastard, shivers.

"The fuck did I tell you five minutes ago?" Matthew growls. His grip tightens as Gilbert writhes in retaliation; the blond rattles Gilbert's whole body in a vain attempt to get his message across. "Watch your shit, Beilschmidt! We just lost the year's easiest game thanks to you, _idiot_." Gilbert grins, dorky and big, and merely shrugs. 

Matthew falls silent. His expression drops-

And suddenly he's dragging Gilbert to the now empty locker room by his wrist, and the Prussian has no objections.

"Fucking acted like you didn't know what skates were..." Matthew grumbles, effortlessly tossing Gilbert forward before removing his skates (and hell if Gilbert knew someone could do something as elegant as removing skates and still look so downright _furious_ ). "What the hell were you trying to accomplish?" 

Gilbert trips over a bench, nearly toppling over. He casually sits on it to play off his current state of clumsiness, undoing his skates with experienced fingers. "Just... Just this," he explains breathlessly. "I wanted to make you mad-"

"You _did_ ," Matthew snarls, frustrated at Gilbert's nonchalant approach to the situation. "You fucking humiliated me out there, you pitiful cunt! That game was supposed to be the easiest of the entire season!" 

Gilbert says nothing, just stands- The moment he does, however, he's forced to step back as Matthew closes in on him. 

"You aren't fucking taking any of this seriously- Fils de salop, did you ever take this seriously?"

Gilbert's lack of a response makes Matthew's face redden with another swell of frustration and with a quick snap his gloves are thrown to the floor with so much force Gilbert is surprised the concrete doesn't crack. He's not granted much time to be surprised, though- Matthew makes use of his now-bare hands, shoving Gilbert into the lockers before fingers are gripping the older man's throat and while Gilbert's lungs immediately start screaming against the restriction, the rest of his body is having an entirely different reaction.

"Matthew..." Gilbert chokes tensely, and he knows it's pathetic but _he's not even fighting back_ , just taking the abuse with tinted cheeks and a stirring cock.

"Ta gueule!" the Canadian snarls, and Gilbert has no idea what he's saying, but he knows he can certainly feel the power behind Matt's voice within every bone of his body- _Every. Single. One._

They're toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, and all Gilbert can focus on is how all of his senses are being overwhelmed by Matthew and Matthew alone. The kid won't allow Gilbert to look anywhere but his hard, unwavering gaze, won't even give him room to breathe anything but the air they keep passing back and forth between each other- _Matthew breathes out, Gilbert breathes in, perhaps too eagerly_. The pattern is intoxicating, makes Gilbert fall into some kind of hypnosis in which he can't move, not without Matthew giving him permission, and the kid's hands aren't loosening their grip but they're definitely itching to travel down Gilbert's body to take what they know they want.

"You make me so damn angry," Matthew whispers. It may be a trick of the light, but Gilbert is almost certain that Matthew's gaze breaks for a moment so he can drink in the sight of the Prussian so flushed, and then he licks his lips and-

Gilbert inhales sharply, resolve breaking:

"Fuck me, Williams." 

He doesn't need to say it twice. The simple statement cuts through the tension in the air and Matthew snaps, his hands falling from Gilbert's neck to grip his head and pull him forward to close the full inch that had been laying between their parted lips (parted, perhaps, because they both had been waiting for this). The kiss is equal parts ravenous and sinful, and Matthew wastes no time demanding complete submission from Gilbert, who gives it to him without question, letting Matthew's tongue slip between his lips and into his mouth.

Even when Gilbert makes a strangled choking sound, Matthew doesn't relent. Even when he can feel his heels press into the lockers behind him, can feel his back shift uncomfortably to conform to the terrain of the cold metal, Matthew keeps pushing him impossibly back, forcing him into his place with bruising, impactful shoves. Even when Gilbert tries to urge him on by rolling his hips- _C'mon, Mattie, I want it_ \- he's dismissed with a harsh growl. 

Matthew sucks Gilbert's bottom lip in between his teeth. He ignores Gilbert's pathetic whimper and bites down, pulling back roughly and letting go to watch a couple droplets of blood flood to the surface of Gilbert's lip.

"Turn around," Matthew mutters huskily, pupils dilating. Gilbert does as he's told and laughs, feeling victorious at getting what he wants, but his cockiness is cut short when Matthew adds, "We'll see if you're so smug in a couple minutes. C'mon, don't play coy; I know your legs can spread farther than that."

Despite himself, Gilbert blushes.

Matthew makes quick work of undressing his lower half as well as his own. "D-do you have any lube?" Gilbert asks hesitantly, risking a glance over his shoulder as Matthew kicks the Prussian's ankles, forcing his legs to accommodate and spread until he's satisfied.

Matthew chuckles airily, sounding a bit dazed. "If you wanted nice, you shouldn't have made us fucking lose, huh, Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert supposes he has a point.

But Matthew, despite the fact that he's still seeing red from Gilbert's feigned lack of hockey playing abilities earlier, knows this won't work without at least making an effort to prep the older man. He's not about to go retrieve shampoo from the showers though, so he makes a show of spitting in one of his hands.

Gilbert grimaces and groans loudly when Matthew unceremoniously forces three fingers into him without much warning or care. Matthew slaps Gil's ass with his free hand, tautly murmuring, "Hush, you're lucky I'm even bothering..."

So Gilbert grits his teeth, trying to fight the natural urge to tense his whole body as Matthew scissors him without much pattern or regard for the noises his lover is making, obviously not interested in going out of his way to make Gilbert keen with pleasure right now. While his fingers do brush against the man's prostate (and hell if Gilbert doesn't let him know when he hits the right spot), he makes no effort to make sure they persist in their ministrations.

Matthew pulls his fingers out and Gilbert is absolutely _giddy_ , purring as those fingers are replaced with the head of Matthew's cock. Gilbert rests his forehead on the cold metal of the locker, waiting breathlessly, and when Matthew presses forward, sinking carefully into him _inch by inch_ -

Gilbert thinks he may start going to church again. 

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Matthew whispers, voice smug and loose as his hot breath slithers into Gilbert's ear. Gil shivers; he hadn't even noticed he was speaking, but when Matt asks...

"Hard, _give it to me hard_ ," he manages through clipped breaths, panting as his white hair clings to his sweaty forehead. Matt laughs, says, "That's what I was planning on," and gives him what he wants, snapping his hips forward so roughly that Gilbert has to actually put effort into not letting his face slam into the locker.

A set of fingers find their way onto one of Gilbert's hips while another set scratches against his scalp before grabbing and twisting until his hair is wrapped into an unforgivingly tight fist. Matthew uses these grips as leverage, pushing Gilbert forward until the Prussian's abdomen is nearly flush against the locker before roughly forcing him back to meet his hips.

The careless fingering Gilbert had received earlier is completely forgiven by this point- Now, when Matthew finds the spot that makes Gilbert whimper and melt, he abuses it. He presses into him not with the tentative, gentle strokes one would expect, but harsh, jagged movements that Gilbert pushes back into, trying desperately to meet each blindingly accurate thrust. Gilbert doesn't have enough consciousness to care that his eyes are rolling or he's maybe drooling a little bit because his jaw is slack and allowing quiet little whimpers to escape his wet lips. He clenches his fingers, trying to scratch at the metal of the locker, trying to get a grip on something, _anything_ -

"Matthew-"

"I don't recall giving you permission to call me by my first name."

"Touch me," Gilbert gasps hopelessly, brows furrowing. "I'm so close, _I'm so close it hurts_ ; please touch me-"

Matthew presses into him, hard and unyielding, whispers, "I'm inside of you. What more do you need?" and-

Gilbert comes.

With a clipped breath and knitted brows, he comes. It's blinding, stunning, too-much and not-enough. His world stops and that familiar warmth erupts inside of his stomach and he knows he's made a mess of his jersey and the locker but he can't bring himself to care, not with Matthew's cock inside of him, pressing against every wall and _oh_ , Gilbert's toes curl.

One more thrust- Like a loaded gun, Matthew's hips snap forward, then stutter, and Gilbert isn't sure what's hotter: the feeling of being so completely, warmly filled, or Matthew's voice as he releases, a low, raspy, "Ah, _fuck_ " that makes Gilbert wonder if maybe he's been accepted through the gates of heaven.

For a few blissful moments, Matthew lets Gilbert lean back back against him for support- But then the Canadian grows tired of it and steps away, leaving Gilbert to depend on the cold metal of the locker to keep his wobbling legs from buckling. He looks at Matthew questioningly, too spent and satisfied to say anything. "Damn," Matthew sighs dreamily as he collects his clothes from the floor, taking his time to appreciate the mess he had turned Gilbert into and feeling all too proud of his work.

"If only you played hockey as well as you take dick..." the Canadian comments wistfully. He shakes his head in disappointment. "Oh well. At least I found one use for you. Clean up. That's my locker you came on; I want it spotless when I get out of the shower, you hear?"


End file.
